


Laurent's Decision

by TheUnforgivables



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnforgivables/pseuds/TheUnforgivables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shamelessly rewrote the last few chapters of Captive Prince in Laurent's POV as a character-exercise. Laurent's mind is a fun place, indeed... Starts from the moment Damen and Laurent are left alone in Laurent's room, after the assassination attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mind in Shambles

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me -- what was supposed to be a scene/character POV exercise for myself turned into nearly 9000 words of Laurent POV. I broke it down into chapters; there are four total. Way to break into a new fandom, me.

Laurent watched, his eyes trailing every movement of the soldiers present in his room. He didn’t dare glance at Damen, whose broad shoulders and set jaw were too much for him at the present moment. He could now feel the effects of the drug that had no doubt been present at the bottom of his goblet, a fire running through his veins he was equally unfamiliar and uncomfortable with experiencing. 

The soldiers milled about, moving with haste just as he had ordered, and the three dead bodies were gone from his rooms in a matter of moments. The rest of the room had yet to be righted, and Laurent watched as the men ineffectually mopped at the blood spilled; as they fixed the goblet without a second glance. 

He leaned against the wall with one shoulder, his arms folding themselves overtop his slightly heaving chest. He ached for touch and blotted out the need, his eyes being drawn to Damen’s powerful shoulders once again. Warily, he drank in the other man’s form, disgust at himself roiling in his stomach. The man had saved him. Had fought the three assassins at his side without question; without having to be ordered to do so.

He couldn’t figure him out. 

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out the man who, by all rights, should have been so easy to determine. Damianos, Crown Prince of Akielos. Prince Killer. His brother’s murderer. A man Laurent had flayed within an inch of his life and not to death -- much to Laurent’s disappointment, at the time.

A man who should have let Laurent be attacked; who could have just let the three assassins do with Laurent as they pleased. 

And yet he hadn’t. Laurent didn’t like it. His stomach turned again, and Damen’s appraising eyes circled the room once the soldiers had left them, the room silent aside from Laurent’s disordered breathing. 

Their eyes met, and Laurent’s whole body pulsed underneath his gaze. It was almost comical to see Damen _look_ at him with his head tilted like that of a curious dog; and any other time, Laurent would have been quick to point it out to Damen. The words never made it to his lips. Instead, his body felt Damen’s eyes scan every inch of him, from boot to hair. 

“You’re wounded.” 

“No.” 

It was hard getting the word out, though it sounded as though it left his lips easily enough. It was hard, because his whole body had tensed under Damen’s gaze; had begged for Damen to do more than just look. And when Damen’s eyes didn’t move away from him, his body’s desire grew worse. Laurent returned the look with as much venom as he could muster. 

“If you mean excluding your attempt to break my arm,” Laurent clarified, a faint throbbing rolling up his shoulder as he recalled the feel of Damen’s hands on him, too many moments ago. 

“I mean excluding my attempt to break your arm,” Damen returned, one hand resting on his hip. He took a step forward and stopped, reacting to the way Laurent’s eyes narrowed and his head shifted, just slightly, so he could glower at Damen properly.

“I would prefer you to stand further away,” Laurent all but growled, his words as hard as he could manage them. Any closer and his body might break his mind’s thin control. He might reach out for the other man and pull him close, despite how the thought of the very act made his stomach recoil. 

Damen, thankfully, looked away from him. When it landed on the goblet, though, Laurent couldn’t keep his expression from shifting; especially not when Damen turned back to him. “Not wounded. Poisoned,” he stated, satisfaction present in his voice. 

“You can restrain your delight,” Laurent murmured, resisting the urge to swallow thickly. “I am not going to die from it.”

Well, perhaps not from the drug itself -- embarrassment was another story, should Damen’s gaze drift downwards once again. 

Damen cocked his head again, a single eyebrow raised. “How do you know that?” 

Laurent just shot him another dark look in response, wishing he could strike the man dead where he stood. Except he couldn’t, and moving from the wall was inadvisable in his condition. So instead he watched as Damen stepped towards the table; as he studied the goblet and its remaining contents. 

“It’s an Akielon drug,” Damen said after a moment. “It’s given to pleasure slaves, during training. It makes them --”

“I am aware of the effects of the drug,” Laurent said, perhaps a hair too shortly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Damen; couldn’t get his shallow breathing under control. He’d read about this particular drug from Akielos. He never thought -- 

The look in Damen’s eyes shifted; amusement, Laurent realized, at Laurent’s precarious and uncomfortable predicament. He’d never considered the man in front of him as attractive before, and now after witnessing the strength he possessed -- the way his muscles rippled underneath those ridiculous slave garments -- 

Laurent cut that thought off just as Damen’s lips began moving, once again. Lips Laurent typically hated to see turned upwards. Lips Laurent’s body wanted to feel against his own, while his mind couldn’t think of anything worse. “It wears off,” Damen said with that slight curl of his lips. “After a few hours.”

Damen’s words echoed in his ears, sending delicate shiver down Laurent’s spine -- one he hoped Damen hadn’t noticed. Instead, he leveled Damen with one of his darkest looks and attempted to keep his composure for a little while longer. Damen was the absolute last person whom he wanted to see him like this; except it was also Damen whose body he kept focusing on, when the Regent’s soldiers had been in the room. 

That thought just made his glare intensify, and Damen’s smug little grin grew a smidgen wider. “Think I’m going to take advantage of the situation?” he asked, raising an eyebrow once again. 

For a brief, sick moment, Laurent braced himself for the Akielon brute to step forward despite Laurent’s earlier demand he remain where he was. Instead, Damen looked towards the door to Laurent’s room, that insufferable grin growing ever wider. “I am,” he said, with all of the charm in the world. “It was good of you to clear your apartments. I thought I’d _never_ get a chance to get out of here.” 

Laurent couldn’t bite back the swear escaping his lips as Damen then turned away from him and headed towards the door. He couldn’t let Damen leave. If this assassination attempt was headed by his Uncle --

“ _Wait_ ,” Laurent urged, grimacing as the word left him. “It’s too dangerous. Leaving now would be an admission of guilt. The Regent’s Guard wouldn’t hesitate to have you killed. I can’t --” 

He cut himself off, unable to focus as Damen turned to face him once again, this time with more space between them. “-- protect you, as I am now,” he finished, letting his crossed arms loosen, just a little.

“Protect me,” Damen repeated, disbelief enunciated in every word. 

“I am aware you saved my life.” It was painful to admit; even harder to say while looking in Damen’s eyes than he had anticipated. His arousal faded, some, if only because he hated how the words added to his vulnerability. The way Damen stared at him now helped it lower, some, too, as his jaw went slack and his brows furrowed, just slightly. “I dislike feeling indebted to you. Trust that, if you don’t trust me.”

“Trust you?” Damen returned with a harsh laugh. “You flayed the skin from my back. I have seen you do nothing but cheat and lie to every person you’ve encountered. You use anything and anyone to further your own ends. You are the _last_ person I would ever trust.” 

Laurent closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall, a breathless, half-laugh escaping him at Damen’s words. He should have known it would be pointless to appeal to Damen’s sense of honor with his own. _You are the last person I would ever trust._ He wanted to say that he would have never trusted Damen with his own life, and yet, here they were. He wanted to say that another chance would come, one that wouldn’t guarantee Damen’s death, should he be caught. 

He didn’t. Instead he looked at Damen through slitted eyes and whispered: “Go, then.” 

Maybe then he would get his mind together enough to think of a way out of this.


	2. Too Much Revealed

It took, perhaps, an hour for Laurent to come back to himself. He had remained against the wall, breathing shallow with his eyes closed, his mind replaying the night over and over. The three men entering the room with Damen in tow. Damen reacting with surprising but much appreciated force. Damen, his hand on Laurent’s wrist and damn near breaking it in order to get Laurent to drop the knife. 

He had to reconstruct the scene. Him, in his chambers, alone with the slave. Three men barging in, dressed in Veretian clothing but prepared with Akielon weapons. A message from Kastor, perhaps, meant to subdue the slave. He needed to believe it; needed to be absolutely certain in it, without a doubt, if he were to ever convince the Council. His pretty words and dashing good looks wouldn’t get him anywhere if he couldn’t say these lies with the proper conviction. 

He dressed and prepared himself, taking his time. The Regent would no doubt know that Damen had escaped by now and would be sending out the Guard in order to retrieve him. No, kill him. Perhaps this had been the Regent’s plan all along -- to taunt Laurent, to take Damen away from him when he no longer served the purpose of destroying Laurent’s focus. As much as he wanted Damen dead, he was better to him alive. 

That was what he kept telling himself, anyway, as he called the Council and his uncle into the audience chamber. The drugs still coursed through him, but its effects were lesser, now. He could breathe. He could stand without feeling as though his knees would go weak from desire. His stomach climbed into the throat at the memory of how his body had craved _Damen’s_ touch, of all people’s. 

It was worse than if he had craved his Uncle’s. It was worse than if he had craved Auguste’s. But he needed to not think about that, now. He needed his head clear and his body ready. He hadn’t slept, and he likely wouldn’t sleep, until this whole mess was settled. And a mental battle with his uncle required every bit of his concentration and energy.

The Council shifted in their seats, his uncle regarding him warily. Studying him, waiting for his misstep. He argued that the three men hadn’t been in the room to attack him, but Damen. The Regent questioned this, as he rightfully should. Why would they attack the slave? What business did those three men have with the slave? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to attack Laurent instead, the Crown Prince of Vere? The men were from Akielos, were they not? Was the slave cohorts with them? 

And the whole time, Laurent combatted the silent accusations; the implications the Regent was trying to leave in his words’ wake. Slowly, he could feel the remaining effects of the Akielon drug leave his system, his mind growing clearer just as sleep threatened to overcome his body, instead. He needed to keep doing this. He had at least managed to convince the Council that perhaps the slave’s side of the story should be heard prior to his execution. His debt, as far as he was concerned, was now paid, but --

The Regent wanted Damen gone. He could see it in the way his uncle’s mouth tightened, just slightly, as Herode handed his medallion to Jord and the Prince’s Guard was sent after the Regent’s in order to stop them from killing Damen, should they happen upon him first. They had wasted too much time arriving here -- perhaps it was already too late and Damen’s blood had been spilled in an alleyway somewhere, far from his home and not by Laurent’s hand, as he had once dreamed of doing himself. 

Had once dreamed, as though he didn’t wish for Damen’s death any longer. He stifled the surprise at his own realization, though he couldn’t stop the pause in his words, the stumble present in his voice. It went mostly unnoticed, except his uncle quirked an eyebrow at it. 

Laurent continued. It went around and around, and his story never once changed. He had rehearsed it, far too many times; heard the Regent’s answers, far too many times. It wouldn’t be long now. If Damen was still alive --

A clamor behind him caused him to straighten his back, imperceptibly. His fingers remained loosely curled at his sides, and his eyes never left his uncle’s -- though his uncle turned his attention away from Laurent and to the men who had entered the room. 

“My nephew has argued for you very persuasively,” he said, his fingers moving along the arm of the throne. Laurent could have sighed in relief, but kept his breath even and his eyes open. “You must have some hidden charm. Maybe it’s your physique he finds so appealing. Or do you have other talents?” 

Laurent would have snorted, had such a reaction not been taken unfavorably. Instead, he murmured, “Do you imply I take the slave to bed? What a revolting suggestion. He’s a brute soldier from Kastor’s army.” 

Half true, and if the Regent had truly planned this with Kastor from the start like Laurent was beginning to suspect, he knew precisely who Damen was, just as Laurent did. But whether his uncle knew or not didn’t matter -- not at the moment. Protecting his honor as Prince, when he had so little of it left after his previous punishment, did. 

“Only a soldier?” his uncle returned, raising an eyebrow once again. Laurent dug deep to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “And yet, you’ve described the bizarre circumstances in which three men broke into your chambers in order to attack him.” The Regent looked from Laurent to behind him -- to Damen, as Laurent thought he saw a flash of jealousy. “If he doesn’t lie with you, what was he doing in your private space so late at night?” 

Laurent forced his fingers to remain slightly curled at his sides and lifted his chin, just a little, as he regarded his uncle with cool distaste. “I don’t lie in the cloying sweat of men from Akielos.” 

“Laurent.” Annoyance. Impatience. Good, this conversation would be over shortly, now that Damen had arrived in one unfortunate piece. “If there has been an Akielon attack against you that you are concealing for some reason, we must and _will_ know about it. The question is serious.” 

“So is my answer,” Laurent said, daring to let his eyes scan the Council behind his uncle. He could see the wariness in their faces; the exhaustion present for having being woken up at a ridiculous hour, prior to the sun’s rising. “I don’t know how this interrogation found its way into my bed. May I ask where I can expect it to travel next?” 

The Regent lifted a ringed hand to his chin, running a finger along the length of his bearded jaw in thought. His eyes drifted from Laurent to Damen again; a flash of contempt, this time, exposed itself to the light before fading. His uncle may have been doing this longer, but Laurent had spent the past few years studying his uncle’s behavior. Learning the folds of his mind, all in an effort to one day outdo him. But Laurent had been outplayed, again and again, and even today, Laurent expected no different. 

He braced himself for his uncle’s words when his attention returned to him. “You wouldn’t be the first young man to find himself at the mercy of a flush of new infatuation. Inexperience often confuses bedding with love. The slave could have convinced you to lie to us for him, having taken advantage of your innocence.” 

“Taken advantage of my innocence,” Laurent repeated, unable to hide the borderline amusement from his voice. He wanted to reveal that he’d been drugged -- that the Akielon could have taken advantage of him in another way, thanks to his uncle’s well-thought out plan -- and that he hadn’t. But he didn’t. 

“We’ve all seen you favor him,” his uncle said with a slight rise and fall of his shoulders. “Seated beside you at table. Fed by your own hand. Indeed, you’ve barely been seen without him, the last few days.” 

He could have laughed. “Yesterday I brutalized him. Today I am swooning in his arms. I would prefer the charges against me to be consistent. Pick one.” 

The slightest of smirks tugged on the Regent’s lips and Laurent felt his blood turn to ice. “I don’t need to pick one, nephew. You have a full range of vices -- and inconsistency is the cap.” 

“Yes, apparently I have fucked my enemy, conspired against my future interests, and colluded in my own murder. I can’t wait to see what feats I will perform next.” He said it as bitingly as possible; with as much conviction as possible. He couldn’t let his own exhaustion break through; not now, though he could definitely see it mirrored in the Council sitting behind his uncle. It was absurd, the various accusations that had been thrown at him, in the span of a few hours. If only Damen had listened --

“And yet, the slave ran,” the Regent said as if reading Laurent’s train of thought. 

“Are we back to this?” He hadn’t managed to keep the exasperation from his voice; not to his own ears, anyway. “There was no assault against me. If I had been attacked by four armed men, do you really think I would have survived, killing three? The slave ran for no more sinister reason than that he is difficult and rebellious. I believe I have mentioned his intractable nature to you -- _all_ of you -- before. You chose to disbelieve me then, also.” 

Finally, a modicum of truth. If Damen hadn’t been the stubborn bastard that he was, he would have stayed behind. He would have waited for a better opportunity to escape than this one: where if he had been caught at any earlier point than he had been, his head would be separated from his body. 

“It isn’t a question of belief,” his uncle said, eyeing Laurent warily, himself. He frowned. “This defense of the slave bothers me. It isn’t like you.” Damn right it wasn’t, but Damen had seen the truth unfold with his own eyes, and perhaps Laurent could use that, later -- not to mention that the debt needed to be repaid. “It speaks to an uncharacteristic attachment. If he has lead you to sympathize with forces outside your own country --”

“Sympathize with _Akielos_?” He didn’t mask the horror from his voice; the disgust at the very thought. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t filtered. And when Laurent noticed the shifts within the Council, he knew he had delivered it just as he should have to argue his position in the matter. 

Herode spoke first, his words halting and unsure: “I hardly think he could be accused of that, not when his father -- and his brother…” 

“No one,” Laurent muttered, straightening his back, “has more reason to oppose Akielos than I have. If Kastor’s gift-slave had attacked me, it would be grounds for war.” And he would have called for it, had Damen joined the three attackers instead of defending him from them. “I would have been overjoyed.” Another truth. “I stand here for one reason only: the truth. You have heard it. I will not argue further. The slave is innocent or he is guilty. Decide.” 

His uncle lifted his hand. “Before we decide,” he said, leveling Laurent with a piercing stare. “You will answer this: If your opposition towards Akielos is genuine, as you maintain -- if there is not some collusion, why do you continually refuse to do service on the border at Delfeur?” 

Laurent felt as though the air was robbed from his lungs, his chest becoming painfully tight. His uncle kept speaking, the words blurring together until the end, where: “...you would pick up your sword...and do your duty.” 

“I --” 

Laurent couldn’t speak. He watched as his uncle rested back against his seat; how his hands curled along the edges of the armrests, resting there. Open and expectant body language, with an eyebrow carefully lifted, as he waited for Laurent’s response. 

Riding to Delfeur would mean Laurent’s certain death, if his uncle had been behind this assassination attempt. And even if he made it there, _fighting_ there would mean his death, if his uncle was after two kingdoms as opposed to one. He needed a way out of this, but he hadn’t --

“I don’t -- see why that should be --”

“It is a contradiction,” murmured Audin. 

“But one that’s easily removed,” Guion said, shifting in his seat. And Laurent could hear the murmurs of assent; saw the way the rest of the Council nodded after Guion’s words. 

Trapped. He was trapped. If he fought against riding to Delfeur, he would be seen a traitor. If he left for Delfeur, no doubt his uncle would have him successfully killed and get to keep Laurent’s throne. It was no longer an issue of whether Damen was innocent or not, though the slave did happen to be innocent. It was an issue about Laurent. About his character.

Laurent wanted nothing more than to lick his dry lips, but he kept his tongue at bay. This argument had gone on long enough -- and he had shown the Regent what it was he cared about, foolishly. He had no choice. 

“You’re right, uncle,” he said, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. He did his best to meet the Regent’s eyes as he continued to speak: “Avoiding my responsibilities has lead to you understandably to doubt my word. I will ride to Delfeur and fulfill my duty on the border. I dislike the idea that there are questions about my loyalty.” 

The words tasted awful in his mouth. His loyalty had never shifted from Vere; he had always held love for his home. And yet, now he had to prove it, to an Uncle who likely wanted him dead -- to a Council that was obviously in his Uncle’s bed. His stomach twisted, and he braced himself for what was to happen next. 

His uncle spread his hands wide, a slight curl to his lips as he said, “This answer must satisfy everyone.” The agreement came in soft waves, cresting against Laurent’s ears in ways that made his stomach turn even further. “I believe we can acquit the slave, with no more questions about loyalty.” 

“I humbly submit to your judgment, uncle,” Laurent breathed with the proper reverence, “and to the judgment of the Council.” 

“Release the slave.” Laurent didn’t have to glance behind him to know that Damen’s hands were being unbound. Instead, he waited for the inevitable, his stomach climbing into his throat. “There, it is done. Come.” 

Laurent breathed in and held the air in his chest. His legs moved without his consent, his desire to appear to be the perfectly obedient nephew outweighing his need to put as much distance between himself and his uncle. He focused his attention on his uncle’s signet ring; on the gold glint and the ruby in its center as he knelt, gracefully, before his uncle.

“Kiss it.”

 _Kiss it_ , his mind recalled, and he willed the memory away. He didn’t dare open his mouth; he didn’t dare rush himself, though he wanted to do nothing more than to get up and leave. Instead, he pressed his lips to the ring, just as a Prince should to the Regent, and pulled his lips away. Echos from another night came to mind, but he did his best to keep them at bay. 

And then he felt it -- the hand in his hair, the brush of his hair out of his eyes. He clamped his mouth shut; kept the shiver threatening to overtake him from rippling through him. His breathing attempted to return to its previous disordered state from hours ago, and his eyes stung. 

“Laurent,” his uncle said, in that voice he hated so much since he was a child. “Why must you always defy me? I hate it when we are at odds, yet you force me to chastise you.” His stomach threatened to escape again. “You seem determined to wreck everything in your path. Blessed with gifts, you squander them. Given opportunities, you waste them. I hate to see you grown up like this -- when you were such a lovely boy.” 

He swallowed his bile and willed his stomach back in place. Vomiting wouldn’t do him any favors.


	3. Some Deeper Plot

Once again, he was alone with Damen. Once again, he had to address the Akielon brute and resist to roll his eyes when Damen asked him why he didn’t want to go to Delfeur. The man may have been a Prince, but he certainly wasn’t intelligent. Damen obviously had no mind for the way of Laurent’s people, and after hours of sparring with his uncle, and with dealing with the lingering effects of the Akielon drug, Laurent was too tired for Damen’s preferred way of speaking: straightforward and simple, with no attempt to make the truth sweeter. 

“How far did you get?” he asked as he rested in the throne, looking up at Damen with curious eyes. For him to still be alive, he had to have made it into the town. 

“Not far,” Damen answered, an odd quality overtaking his words. “A brothel somewhere in the southern quarter.” 

Laurent felt his lips quirk without his consent. “Has it really been that long since Ancel?” 

He had to hide his growing smile when Damen’s dark skin flushed, taking on a rosy hue. “I wasn’t there for pleasure,” he denied -- and Laurent knew it was most likely the truth. “I had one or two other things on my mind.” 

“Pity,” Laurent said, his indulgent smile fading, somewhat. He regarded Damen, his eyes scanning the same body that had nearly put him in fits, earlier, and frowned. “You should have taken your pleasure when you had the chance. I am going to lock you up so tightly you won’t be able to breathe, let alone inconvenience me like this again.”

And inconvenience him he had. Now he had to ride to the border; had to pray that his uncle had merely wanted him to prove his loyalty as opposed to leading him out into yet another trap. His fate was no longer in his own hands, thanks to the hardheaded man before him. 

“Of course,” Damen said, as though Laurent’s words were the obvious conclusion. 

“I told you you shouldn’t thank me,” Laurent said, closing his eyes as his stomach returned to its previous, unsettled state.

***

Two days. His uncle had given him orders to ride out in two days, and so it was settled. There would be no changing of his mind; no convincing that perhaps his talents would serve Vere best here, in the capital. He would ride, with a paltry number of soldiers, and he would head to the border, where his fate would be decided.

He couldn’t erase the feel of his uncle’s hand in his hair; had found himself in the baths shortly after dismissing Damen and sending him back to his cage. Kneeling before his uncle in a show of grace only reminded him of all the other times he had knelt in front of his uncle, his face guided towards his uncle’s lap, and he needed his mind _clear_ if he was going to figure out a way around this -- a way to sidestep yet another move made towards him. 

He scrubbed, rinsed, and dressed, only to head back towards his rooms. In the time he had spent arguing with his uncle and the Council, several servants had come inside it and cleaned it, just as he had willed. A disturbed air still presided in it, and he found it difficult to relax as he reclined on his couch, a book in his hands. 

He needed sleep, though he knew rest wouldn’t come to him. Not while his mind worked every angle. Perhaps he would go riding; except his favorite horse had been run through, just the day before, and anger bubbled within him. 

It was all too neat. The knives. Bringing the slave to his quarters. His uncle’s insistence that he was lying about who had been attacked. If it had been his uncle’s plan to get him sent to the border after all, he had most certainly succeeded. How could Laurent have missed his uncle’s overall goal? After all, Laurent was supposedly inexperienced; a coward -- one great at speaking a good game but unwilling to actually play it.

Perhaps his uncle was right. 

He put a hand to his face and took in a deep, shuddering breath. His uncle wasn’t right, he told himself. The Regent had been wrong countless times about him before; had been doing everything in his power to tarnish Laurent’s reputation. And to a point, Laurent had allowed him to. He would not give him this. He would not give the Regent the satisfaction of proving the Prince to be weak and ill-equipped.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when, hours later, Radel had entered his rooms. “Your uncle has gone to speak with the slave, Your Highness,” he said, his hands folded in front of him. “The slave also wishes to speak with you.” 

Laurent placed his fresh goblet down on the table and rose from his seat. “Thank you, Radel,” he said through tight lips.

If his uncle was speaking with Damen, there could only be one reason why.

***

Laurent stood in front of Damen’s room, surveying the sight before him. Damen, on his feet and back in those ridiculous slave clothes, standing like a man in front of his uncle. He would have laughed, had he not wanted to alert the both of them to his presence.

“I wait for a real answer,” the Regent said, and Laurent wished he had heard what the preceding question had been. However, judging by the look on Damen’s face, the question had been about Laurent in some way. Distrust was present in his eyes, though his gaze was as respectful as it could have been, given the situation. 

“I’m -- glad he does his duty,” Damen said, stumbling over his words. Laurent smirked a bit to himself. “A prince should learn how to lead men before he becomes king.” 

There was a pause, and then: “My nephew is a difficult case. Most men would think that leadership was a quality that ran naturally in the blood of a king’s heir -- not something that must be forced on him against his own flawed nature. But then, Laurent was born a second son.”

 _So were you_ , Laurent bit back in his mind, his eyes narrowing at his uncle’s back. The throne had never been meant for him -- it had been meant for Auguste, and had Laurent known his precious brother would -- 

Laurent blinked the thought away, his focus finding its way to Damen again. Something was off about his expression; as though he had the desire to say something but was biting his tongue. Did Damen truly have that kind of restraint? He never had it when alone with Laurent. But his uncle was a different kind of man, and perhaps -- 

_The slave wishes to speak with you._ Laurent turned this information over in his mind, just as his uncle asked, “Why don’t you tell me what happened, last night?” 

“Your Highness, you already have the story from your nephew.” 

Laurent blinked again, his brow furrowing some. He had expected for Damen to tell the Regent the truth. The Regent had obviously expected the same, his shoulders squaring as he said, “Perhaps, in the confusion, there was something my nephew misunderstood -- or left out.” He picked his words carefully, expertly. “He is not used to fighting, as you are.” 

Damen looked as though he were about to swallow his own tongue. Laurent bit back a curse and waited for the inevitable. His uncle, however, spoke first: “I know your first instinct is to honesty. You will not be penalized for it.”

No, _Laurent_ would, and if Damen so much as opened his mouth to speak --

“I --”

Laurent stepped forward, purposely putting extra weight into his step to alert both his uncle and Damen to his presence. Damen looked away from them both, his broad shoulders sagging under an invisible weight -- perhaps guilt, Laurent mused, as he said, “Uncle.”

“Laurent,” the man returned, annoyance obvious in his voice.

“Did you have some business with my slave?”

He didn’t expect an honest answer. Though when the Regent said, “Not business -- curiosity,” it was as close to honesty as his uncle could get, aside from those touches which left Laurent cold and sick to his stomach. Despite how much he wanted to keep his distance, he stepped forward, keeping an aloof air about him.

“He isn’t my lover,” he said, as though that would satisfy the things the Regent needed to know. Obviously it wouldn’t -- he was after Damen spilling the truth, like Laurent had the blood of the third man they had dispatched together. 

“I’m not curious about what you do in bed,” the Regent said with a shrug of his shoulders. Laurent bit back his response about how the Regent already knew what he was like in bed. “I’m curious about what had happened in your rooms, last night.”

“Hadn’t we settled that?” As if he didn’t already know. If he had sent those men after Laurent himself, then the Regent had planned the whole thing -- had orchestrated it so that Laurent’s section had been cleared of his guard; that his slave was brought to him in order to aid the three assassins. 

“Half-settled,” the Regent said, and he jerked his head towards Damen, who remained silent as the two of them engaged one another. “We never heard the slave’s account.” 

Laurent feigned surprise. “Surely you wouldn’t value a slave’s word over mine?”

“Wouldn’t I?” the Regent asked, giving Laurent that same confused-dog look that Damen had just the night before, head tilt included. “Even your tone of surprise is feigned. Your brother could be trusted; your word is a tarnished rag. But you can rest easy -- the slave’s account matches yours, as far as it goes.” 

“Did you think that there was some deeper plot, here?” Laurent asked, raising an eyebrow as he regarded his uncle. 

His uncle met his gaze, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he studied Laurent for a moment. After it passed, he let out a quiet sigh and gave a slight shake of his head. “I only hope your time on the border will improve and focus you. I hope you will learn what you need as the leader of other men. I don’t know what else I can teach you.” 

Laurent bit back the response of how the Regent had taught him plenty in how to _please_ another man, his stomach roiling with the thought. Instead, he said, “You keep offering me all these chances to improve myself,” he said. “Teach me how to thank you.” 

He kept the slight smirk in check when his uncle just stared at him, hard, in response. He remembered being taught how to be “thankful,” and he was certain his uncle remembered those “lessons,” as well. 

“Will you come to see me off tomorrow, uncle?” he asked, by way of letting his uncle know their conversation was over.

“Laurent. You know I will.” It was said in that same fondness he had used much earlier that morning. Laurent did not look away from him and did his best not to look sick to his stomach, watching as his uncle left Damen’s cage of a room. 

Once certain they were alone, Laurent turned to Damen. “Well?” he prompted. “If you ask me to rescue a kitten from a tree, I am going to refuse.” 

“I don’t have a petition,” Damen said, meeting Laurent’s eyes. “I just wanted to speak with you.”

“Fond goodbyes?” Laurent cracked, wryness seeping into his tone. 

“I know what happened, last night.” The words were said with such a surety, whispered so that no one but Laurent would hear him. Conspiratorial, almost. 

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Do you?” 

Damen, for all of his size, drew in a breath and looked small before Laurent. “So do you. You killed the survivor before he could be interrogated.” 

Laurent gave Damen a once over before moving past him, towards the window that he knew Damen couldn’t reach due to his chain. He sat, carefully, arranging himself in such a way so his focus was on the fading light of day, his mouth pressed into a slight frown. Once satisfied with the view out the window, he turned to Damen once again and studied him in a new light. “Yes.” 

He wasn’t sure what Damen was getting at, but he could guess. And if his guess was correct, then maybe he had underestimated the Akielon brute, after all. 

“You killed him because you didn’t want him to be interrogated -- you knew what he was going to say and you didn’t want him to say it.” 

Laurent continued to watch Damen as he spoke; the way his brows knit together, just slightly, as he revealed the truth as he saw it. The way he seemed to gain confidence in himself, the longer he spoke. “Yes,” he said, seeing no point in denying Damen that extra boost. Perhaps if he continued to affirm Damen’s suspicions, this conversation would end quickly, and he could return to his rooms and relax, while he still had time. 

“I assume he was to say Kastor sent him.” 

“Better for Kastor to have friend uncle on the throne than nephew prince who hates Akielos,” Laurent said, looking away from Damen. He didn’t need to watch the other man’s face as he worked himself through the details. 

“Except that Kastor can’t afford war now, not with dissent among the kyroi. If he wanted you dead, he’d do it secretly. He’d never send assassins like this: crudely armed with Akielon weapons, announcing their provenance. Kastor didn’t hire those men.” 

Laurent supposed Damen would know this best out of anyone -- though of course he couldn’t say that, least he let Damen know he was privy to his secret. But even that particular plan -- send the supposedly dead Akielon Crown Prince to be the bed-slave of the Prince of Vere -- smacked of his uncle more than anyone. “No,” he agreed.

Would Damen reach the same conclusions as him? Or would Laurent have to walk him through this, like he would have to for a child? Just as he began to amuse himself with this possibility, Damen continued: “Then -- war was the aim. A confession like that -- if your uncle heard it, he would have no choice but to retaliate,” he said. Laurent could hear the frown in his voice. “If you had been found…” He trailed off and cleared his throat, as though he didn’t want to dare think about the possibilities of what should have happened, the night before. “Someone is trying to provoke a war between Akielos and Vere.”

“You have to admire it,” Laurent said, trailing his fingers along the window’s ledge. He spoke as though he were commenting on the weather. “It’s the perfect time to attack Akielos. Kastor is dealing with factional problems from the kyroi. Damianos, who turned the tide at Marlas, is dead. And the whole of Vere would rise up against a bastard, especially one who had cut down a Veretian prince. If only my murder weren’t the catalyst, it’s a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.” 

Damen went silent again; perhaps he was considering the outcome of that war; how his nation would crumble to Vere in a time like this. For a brief moment, Laurent felt a pang of sympathy; the man was far from home, far from his throne, and far from being able to unite his people in order to stand up against Laurent’s own, should Vere come barreling down the border and into the heart of Akielos. And his brother Kastor had placed him here. Laurent’s uncle had placed him here. 

Laurent felt eyes on him and turned towards them, the depths of them flashing with something Laurent couldn’t quite place. “Your welfare hinges on this plot. If only for your own sake, don’t you want it stopped?” 

Laurent kept his expression as neutral as possible. “I have stopped it,” he said, his eyes remaining locked on Damen’s.

“I meant --” Damen stumbled, his frown deepening. “Can’t you put aside whatever family quarrel you have and speak honestly with your uncle?” 

Laurent’s whole body tensed at Damen’s suggestion, his eyes widening as he resisted the urge to laugh, bitterly. “I don’t think that would be wise,” Laurent said after a moment, speaking in quiet tones. 

“Why not?” 

It was such a simple question -- the answer to which Laurent knew wouldn’t sit easily on the Akielon’s mind. Sighing, Laurent turned his head away from him. 

“Because the murderer is my uncle.”


	4. Do Whatever It Takes

Much to Laurent’s surprise, Damen seemed to accept this truth with absolutely no trouble. “If that’s true --” Damen stopped and considered Laurent’s words once again, his jaw jutting forward in thought. “You can’t go to Delfeur,” he said, taking a step closer to Laurent. “It’s a death trap.” 

Laurent snorted, resisting the urge to clap sarcastically. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take tactical advice from a slave, scant moments after he is dragged back from a failed attempt to escape,” he said, glancing in Damen’s direction. 

“You can’t go,” Damen insisted, frowning. “It isn’t just a matter of staying alive. You forfeit the throne as soon as you set foot outside the city. Your uncle will hold the capital. He already --” Damen paused, and then: “He has already cut off your supply lines through Varenne and Marche. You don’t have finances or troops.” 

Laurent nodded; it was a brief, miniscule movement of his head. He had to admit, Damen’s mind for the tactical was, perhaps, better than he had previously anticipated. He might not be the brightest man Laurent knew, but he had knowledge and experience on his side. Perhaps it would have been more difficult for Damen to buy that Laurent’s uncle was behind all of this, if Damen’s own brother hadn’t cast him out and had him sent to Vere.

Either way, it was too late. Everything was already in motion. Laurent would go to Delfeur, and would likely have to fight tooth and nail just to get there. As Damen had said earlier, he was not one to shy away from a fight -- as long as there was a chance he might win.

“Why are you doing this?” Damen asked, breaking through his thoughts. “Is it a forced move? You can’t think of a way around it?” Laurent turned towards him again, a slight frown on his face as Damen continued: “Is your reputation so far in the dirt that you think the Council will choose your uncle for the throne anyway, unless you prove yourself?” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes at Damen. “You are right on the edge of what I will allow from you,” he said, his lips barely moving as the words left him. 

“Take me with you to Delfeur.” The slave dared to make it an order with conviction behind it.

“No.” There was absolutely no way he would bring the slave with him. His uncle would no doubt try to use him against him; find a way to force the truth out of Damen’s unstoppable mouth. Another moment alone with his uncle and Damen would have no doubt crumbled; his sense of honor and honesty would have made sure of it. 

“Akielos is my country. Do you think I want her overrun by your uncle’s troops? I will do anything in my power to prevent war. Take me with you. You will need someone you can trust.” 

Laurent turned Damen’s words over in his mind and laughed internally at the irony. Just earlier that day, Laurent had asked Damen to trust him. Now Damen was trying to demand the same of him? “Why would I need that?” he asked, keeping his expression intentionally neutral. 

He watched as the question rose in Damen’s eyes, and how he squashed it away all on his own. Damen’s jaw set, and a hand rested on his hip again, as it would if he had a sword. After a moment, Laurent came to the conclusion that Damen wasn’t necessarily wrong: he would need a man he could trust, but his brother’s _murderer_? 

There was _no way_ he could trust him. For multiple reasons -- the foremost of which found its way to Laurent’s lips. “I would have thought that a soldier like you would be quite happy to see Kastor dethroned, after all he’s done to you. Why not side with the Regency against him -- against _me_? I’m sure my uncle has approached you to spy for him, on very generous terms.” 

“He has,” Damen said without pause. Laurent’s jaw set, just a little tighter, at the carefree admission. “He asked me to bed you, then report back to him -- not in those words.” 

Laurent just raised an eyebrow. “And your answer?”

Damen frowned, annoyance radiating through his form. “If I had bedded you, you’d know it.” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes, remembering that night in the baths. How Damen had grabbed his wrist; the way his eyes had trailed the length of Laurent’s body in a way that had been sickeningly familiar. “Yes,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Your style of grabbing your partner and kicking their legs open does stand out in the memory.” 

“That isn’t --” Damen set his jaw once again as he drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it, slowly, out his mouth, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he said, “I’m an asset. I know the region. I will do whatever it takes to stop your uncle.” He met Laurent’s eyes, the honesty contained in Damen’s almost stifling. “I’ve helped you before. I can again. Use me however you will. Just -- take me with you.” 

Laurent snorted. “You’re hot to help me?” he asked. “The fact that we ride towards Akielos factors in your request not at all?” 

The unmistakable flush building on Damen’s cheeks said it all. “You will have one more person standing between you and your uncle,” he said, regaining his composure as the words spilled from his lips. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

“My dear brute,” Laurent said, standing up from his seat in the window. He said the words with relish; a hatred he thought had disappeared after Damen came to his rescue, the night before, that returned with a vengeance just for this moment. “I want you to _rot_ here.” 

He heard Damen pull on his chains, the tinkling of iron links the only noise in the room other than Damen’s harsh breathing. Laurent moved passed him, his chin raised and his shoulders back, not so much turning to look in his direction, not even as Damen growled, “You can’t _leave me here_ while you ride off into your uncle’s trap. There’s more than _your_ life at stake!” 

When Laurent didn’t respond; didn’t so much as glance at him over his shoulder, Damen swore, loudly, in Akielon. “Are you that sure of yourself?” Damen snapped, his voice carrying through the room. “I think if you could beat your uncle on your own, you would have done it already.” 

Laurent’s steps faltered, his hand resting on the frame to Damen’s door, for just a moment. He grit his teeth and swallowed his words down. Instead of responding like he burned to do, he forced himself to keep moving and strode out Damen’s door. 

The slave was meant to rot in this cell for all eternity. 

He just needed to trust in that.

***

He couldn’t.

Hours had gone by since his conversation with Damen in his cell, and Laurent found himself restless, unable to sleep. Not that sleep ever came easy for him. Between the events of the past few days, he felt, perhaps, that it was best not to sleep, lest his uncle set yet another assassination attempt in motion before he rode out, later that day. 

_If you could beat your uncle on your own, you would have done it already._

The words kept playing themselves in his mind, Damen’s voice strained with anger and frustration. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, his mind easily read by anyone who wished to turn its pages. But Laurent recalled the power behind his voice, too. How it carried across the room and demanded Laurent pay attention to what he had to say.

He would have made a powerful king, one that garnered respect only by breathing. Laurent hated it, the way the man continued to carry himself, even here in Vere, while he wore those ridiculous gold marks of the slave. Ripped of his title of Crown Prince, Damen should have found himself humbled and fumbling for something to hold onto.

And perhaps he was. Perhaps that was why he pushed so hard to come with Laurent -- as though Laurent was going to be easily persuaded. Laurent had given the slave the choice to run or stay behind and remain protected, and the slave chose the chance at freedom. How could Laurent trust that riding south, closer to the slave’s homeland, wouldn’t result in the same? His own brother had abandoned him once, so why wouldn’t -- 

Laurent stood up from his couch and began to pace the length of his rooms. He had several maps laid out on top of his table, and he delicately held a goblet in his fingers. He hadn’t dared to take a sip of it, lest he find something at the bottom more vicious than the Akielon drug from the night before, though he had fetched the water himself, just to be safe. 

His brother hadn’t _abandoned_ him. He had been taken from him, forcibly, by the same two hands that now offered to help Laurent fight against his uncle. Slim fingers tightened around the stem of the goblet, and Laurent lifted it to his lips after a quick check of its cup. The water felt cool on his lips, and he closed his eyes. Auguste was the last pure thing he’d had in his life. He couldn’t let thoughts like these ruin that for him. He couldn’t let that man -- 

Laurent shook his head and set the goblet aside. He strode back over to his table, glancing at the maps. He could see the various traps his uncle could lay out for him; the points where his meager troops could be ambushed. It didn’t matter how long he stared at the maps in question, he couldn’t figure out a trail that wouldn’t leave him vulnerable and open to attack.

Damen had been right to call it a death trap. Laurent’s stomach twisted, the water he’d just drunk souring within it. He’d known for quite some time now that his uncle may be reluctant to give up the throne, but he hadn’t considered -- 

He never thought the Regent would try to kill him in order to keep it. 

It was harrowing, when it all came together. How each piece would point to Damen; how it would have been so easy for Laurent to dispatch of him -- a scapegoat for his uncle. And Damen had pieced it together himself -- hadn’t at all questioned Laurent when he spoke the truth of who had set the plan in motion, in the first place. 

And Laurent had wanted nothing more than to get rid of the damn Akielon brute -- his uncle certainly knew that; had probably banked on Laurent’s hatred for Damianos, Prince Killer to overcome any possible growing attachment to the other man. _Inexperience often confuses bedding with love,_ he recalled along with the prying tones that underlay the words. 

_You will need someone you can trust._

Laurent didn’t trust anyone. He certainly wasn’t about to trust the man who had taken his beloved Auguste away from him. And yet… 

_I know the region._

He couldn’t get Damen’s voice out of his head -- his attempts to persuade Laurent into doing the unthinkable: providing Damen with manufactured freedom. Providing Damen with multiple chances to escape; to possibly leave Laurent without assistance in his time of need. 

If he couldn’t trust Damen, he would just have to trust himself capable of keeping the brute in check -- _if_ he decided to let the slave come with him, after all, to Delfeur. His jaw tightened, and he glanced at the maps once again. Closing his eyes, he brought his water to his lips and sipped at it, letting the cool liquid soothe the dryness in his throat before he settled the cup back down on the table.

_I will do whatever it takes to stop your uncle._

Without another moment to think, he strode over to the door to his rooms and opened them. “Go fetch Radel,” he ordered. “I have orders for him regarding the slave.” 

And so, _apparently,_ would Laurent.


End file.
